The Fallen king
by MoonMonya
Summary: Francis, the former king of France, is thrown into prison, and an execution date is set for him. Even though he's a nation, he still fears death... And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, Arthur shows up, presenting himself as his new guard. What did Arthur come there for? To mock Francis or maybe for something else...?


It was the year 1792 and a mass of 20 000 people had gathered before the royal palace in Paris, France. The crowd voiced angry cries, accompanied by the clanking of steel against steel, sword against sword. Of course, they had gathered for a reason; to take down the king and to free France from monarchy.

A neutral expression, one he had perfected for years, could be seen on the face of king Francis XVI as the royal man sat upon his golden throne, listening to the angry cries of his outraged people. The king was tired, the French revolution had taken its toll on the man who could have once been considered beautiful. But now if a person was to lay eyes on him they would see a depressed man, lingering on the edge of insanity.

His blue eyes, which had once been two beautiful sapphires full of life, now looked broken, glazed over and void of any emotions, void of the will to live. Onto his skin, right under his eyes, sleepless nights had drawn dark circles. His golden hair was tied back into a lazy ponytail, a red ribbon tied around his hair.

The king was tired. Oh so very tired. He no longer wanted to fight back, he wouldn't fight back. Let them take him down, let them throw him into prison to rot, let them kill him. It's not like they would succeed in ending him anyway. It was a curse of a nation to live forever, and it was the curse of a nation to suffer along with his people and country.

A crisis hit France, taxes were raised, people suffered, Francis suffered. This all had robbed Francis of his will to live. Maybe his people did know what was best for them? Maybe monarchy was a mistake after all? Francis could only hope that once the Kingdom of France was converted to just France his suffering would end... He could only imagine the satisfied grin upon his old rival's, England's, face once he heard about the French revolution.

He would be executed... It is said that nations can not die, yet that didn't stop him from fearing, that didn't stop the images of a sharp blade cutting trough his neck invading his mind.

But still, the Frenchman refused to move from his throne. He would face the end of an era with dignity.

He snapped out of his thoughts as soon as he heard a loud crash from further away. They had broken trough and were now coming for him and all the French king did was wait patiently for his upcoming demise.

A young girl with a raised bow marched her way into the throne room, her blue eyes staring into Francis'. So she had somehow gotten ahead of the crowd.

"Forgive me, your majesty." she spoke, her slender fingers releasing the tensed string of the bow, allowing the beautifully crafted arrow fly trough the air, making its way towards Francis' chest.

A small smile graced the lips of the former king as he allowed the iron tip of the arrow pierce his chest. His body fell forward, darkness enveloping him as he fell. The last thought that Francis had was; 'she had a beautiful voice...'

-

"Forty... Forty one... Forty two..."

"Are you ever going to stop?" an annoyed voice broke trough the train of thoughts of a prisoner.

"Forty- See what you did now? I don't remember where I left off! I have to start all over again now." the blond prisoner complained, shaking his head slightly to show his disapproval towards the guard who kept cutting his train of thoughts. And he was so comfortable there... counting the tiny cracks that winded across the ceiling of the prison.

"You know, I was your king once." Francis said, twirling a strand of hair around his bony finger.

"'was' and 'once' being the key words, your majesty." the guard replied, voice dripping sarcasm.

Francis cast a sideways glance at the guard, his shoulders preforming an elegant movement, which could have been a royal shrug.

"Mon ami, you seem to be in a foul mood." the former king finally remarked. He had been down here for so long, he had gotten to know his guard fairly well.

"Of course I would be in a bad mood, the bastards in charge decided to have me transferred to the lower level." the guard spoke, irritation in his voice.

Francis nodded, his golden locks bouncing with the movement of his head. He dreaded to see his new guard- knowing his luck, he would probably be an asshole.

"Well you'll see your new pal in a few. Farewell, your majesty, I'll come to visit, or rather, I'll come to see your execution." and with a short bow he was gone.

Francis sighed as he was reminded once again of his death that he could not avoid. The thought of death scared him more than anything. Never before- not even on the battlefield- had Francis thought about death, there was simply no need to. But now...

Light clicking of shoes against stone caught Francis' attention. A metal sound indicated that the person who was coming carried a sword- the new guard, Francis concluded. His blue eyes widened when the guard came into view.

He didn't look like a guard- he wasn't dressed like one. Thrown recklessly onto his shoulders was a red coat- much too flashy for a guard, even in France. Onto his head was placed a black pirate hat, two cream coloured feathers sticking out.

But it wasn't the attire of the new guard that made Francis doubt his sanity... Oh no... What made the Frenchman do a double take were the two dark emerald eyes the man possessed and above them, the two bushy eyebrows, furrowed together.

"Why are you here...? To make fun of me? Well, go ahead, I've grown used to it." Francis spoke as he observed England, who sat himself down on the chair the other guard had been using.

Much to Francis' annoyance, an arrogant smirk was formed by the other nations lips as he folded his arms upon his chest and averted his emerald eyes to the ground. He was forced to push his hat back when it started to slip down, and his eyes found Francis'.

"I am just here on guard duty. Why would I ever make fun of you, Francis?" Arthur asked, raising a cocky eyebrow, as if intent on making Francis pop with anger.

Francis didn't respond, not wanting to give the Brit another reason to mock him. Arthur already had enough of those reasons anyway...

"It seems we're stuck together here for a while now, eh frog?" a dry chuckle left Arthur's lips, soon followed by a tired sounding sigh.

"Listen, frog. I do't even bloody know myself why I'm here, okay? So please bugger off for now and let me think... There must be a reason that bloody bunny lead me here..." Arthur's voice grew more quiet as he mumbled the last line, mostly to himself.

Francis sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall, his eyes traveling back to the ceiling and the cracks on it.

"One... Two.. Three..." he wondered if he could annoy Arthur with this?


End file.
